Dead Man's Crooked Smile
by SecretSimian
Summary: Blood begets blood. They shed blood so blood shall be shed. OC - self insert, darker than canon.


Deadman's Crooked Smile _Intro_:

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It was the first example of civilization I had seen in several weeks, at the base of the mountain, alongside the river I was following, stood a grand tavern and stable. The wood was intricately carved and old, the craftsmanship too loving and labored to have been built during war times. Now it provided shelter for bandits and other travelling ne'er do wells, the building disgraced by what it had become home to.

I could smell food on the other side of the door and the grumbling from my stomach betrayed the tightness in my chest. It had been days since I had finished eating my last kill but I was almost at the finish line. I trudged forward, through the knee-high snow and pushed open the heavy wooden door with both arms. A blast of warmth hit me as I stumbled into the establishment, and so did the intoxicating smell of bread and meat. I was almost there.

It was then that I remembered the weight of my task.

The bartender was staring at me, his face hardened but his eyes betraying the worry of a man uniquely softer than his patrons, patrons that did not share in his pity. It must've been an odd sight for them, a tiny boy in a worn cloak with hair as white as the snow outside, walking from the blistering cold and into a den of killers. To them I was surrendering one death for a death far less pleasant. But I came not as a lamb.

'A five year old walks into a bar…' The joke sounded tired even in my head, a failed attempt to offset the terror that clenched at my heart, despite my insistence on the contrary. Old war dogs, mercenaries, criminals, prostitutes and everything in between, eyes pinned on little old me. I waited for the pieces to move.

"The boys mine." One of the uglier men sitting at the bar exclaimed, claiming me. It took a great deal of effort for him to get to his feet, but he managed and drunkenly made his way over to where I stood. The bartender looked to say something, but his concern was squashed when he saw the long machete dangling from the man's hip. He turned and began scrubbing mugs. His worry was unfounded.

The man approached me and stooped to my level, his hand landed on my head and he ruffled my hair. I hate it when people do that. "That's real pretty hair you got there boy, not a color you see often here in Kiri." The man slurred, quite obviously drunk. A grotesque smile split his face. "I like boys with pretty hair, what's say you 'n me go into the back room and I show you what I do with em'." A couple of his drinking buddies chuckled. My eyes tightened.

"I'd rather you didn't, it's best for everyone that way." I replied sharply. The mans drinking buddies erupted into laughter and so did he. The pitch of my voice undercutting whatever effect the words may have carried.

"Now, now, don't be talkin' back boy." The drunk laughed, as his hand wrapped around my shoulder and gripped the back of my neck like a vice. "Move yer ass." he growled. In that moment it was all over.

There was a flash of steel and gore.

His hand hit the dirty tavern floorboards, unencumbered by his arm. I didn't give the drunken kid fucker the opportunity to scream, lurching forward I ventilated the man's throat with my kunai. He dropped to the floor choking and drowning in his own blood.

A second of stunned silence fell over the tavern. A moment to process what just happened.

"Is that a-"

A hard man's greatest folly is his pride. I had just killed a regular, a drinking buddy to the rest of these degenerates, and I had revealed my hand. Mother had once told me that many thought the only good shinobi was a dead shinobi, regardless of age or talent. Mother was rarely wrong.

"GUT THE BABY SHINOBI!"

Emboldened by my appearance and the blood lust of savage men, the room came alive with a viciousness and all at once charged forward. My brain rushed to prioritize targets. The tavern was a relatively successful business so there where targets in abundance.

A shaggy man wearing a tattered cloak appeared at my side, part-way through drawing a poor facsimile of a sword. I fell suddenly towards him. He was unprepared for the erratic movement and hesitated with his draw. His mistake. I caught myself in a low stance, and let loose an arcing strike. My kunai split his tibial artery and it sprayed bright red. He fell forward, I swung my blade high and double tapped him.

'Jaw meet Kunai'.

My indulgence in the kill almost cost me, I dropped frantically to the floor, narrowly avoiding a blow from a heavy axe. The brute that had caught me off guard swung again, straight down, I rolled out of the way of the second strike. The brute's axe sent wood chips flying from the floor. I scrambled backwards on my ass and grabbed the machete from the first dead drunk. Immediately I rolled back out of the path of another swing, hopped backwards onto my feet and-

Directly collided with another assailant, without a moment of hesitation, I threw the machete straight up. I heard the man's head split behind me and felt the blood spatter down. I didn't have time to look at the mess I left behind.

'Back to the Kunai.'

I charged the axe brute, arms back, defense dropped. A classic technique to mentally disarm opponents. I shot forward until I was a foot away and dropped to my knees, under another wild strike. The blood slicked floor held my momentum and I slid between the man's legs exposing his back. I launched onto his shoulders and in the most violent piggyback ride of all time, opened his throat with a jerk of my kunai.

The brute's body fell and I jumped high from his shoulders before he hit the ground. In the seconds I lingered in the air my eyes dashed all across the room in the air until I saw something I could work with. At the back of the room stood a bar and barrel of ale on tap. I landed on the bar.

There were around fifteen people in the tavern, corpses not included. Some of the patrons had gotten too far into the mood of things and were brawling with each other, in the corner the barkeep stood protecting the tavern's two whores from anyone who'd get frisky in the violence. The rest of the men where for me, and they charged forward.

They where uncoordinated, drunk, stumbling over each other. I grabbed a large bottle sitting on the bar top and shattered it. Kunai in one hand and broken bottle in the other I swiped at anything I could, slicing arms open and severing digits. I just had to keep them off the bar, simple crowd control. Some had the brilliant idea of crawling up. They fell back down, life extinguished. I had the high ground, this was becoming a manageable fight.

That was until I got grabbed from behind. Someone in a fleeting moment of rational thinking had made their way around the bar. I had counted on them being too drunk to do anything so sensical. He held me tight, and I could feel his breath on the back of my neck.

"Cheeky fuck, not so tough now." He spat. He was wrong.

I kicked back as hard as I could and it worked, to some extent, the man roared and I felt something shatter under my foot, most likely a rib. In his moment of pain the man threw me through the air. Right into the mob.

'This is bad.'

Hands immediately began to tear at me, fist reigned down, kicks smashed into my ribs, weapons sliced my legs. I gritted my teeth and narrowed my eyes. I could only muster one irrational thought, one driving force.

'I am not going to die hungry.'

My eyes found the tap barrel and narrowed, 'Time for plan B.' through the mass of attackers I threw my last kunai -Mother's last kunai- with all the chakra enhanced strength of my small shinobi frame. It pierced through a man's side and into the barrel demolishing it. A wave of alcohol saturated the floor, the mob, and myself, mixing with the already present booze and blood. That act alone didn't deter any of the men however, all too engrossed in beating me to death. The pain began to peak and my vision blurred. White dots danced in front of my eyes. Blood leaked from my mouth, but my hands began a familiar dance. I chanted words that I had not spoken for months.

"Katon: Great Fireball Jutsu." Everything turned to fire.

The crowd recoiled in horror and burning, blazing, blistering pain. Flames spread out like living creatures, attacking and devouring everything they touched. The bar was quickly engulfed in flames and I was not excluded. My tattered cloak and exposed skin where crackling and popping under the heat.

Screams exploded through my head. This was not how I envisioned the end. This could not be the end. This would NOT be the end. I bit near through my tongue and stood a living pyre.

I saw the way out through the black smoke that was billowing up from the inferno. Coughing and feeling death's hand around my throat, I pushed my way towards the exit. All around me men burned. Oozing chunks of flesh hit the floor, including my own. Screams permeated the air, nearly drowned out by the cracking of wood and the sizzling of blood. Innocent and guilty alike, everyone burned. My eyesight kept flashing in and out.

I got to the door, and I was not the only one. The burning corpse of the barkeep was upright against the door, seemingly welded to it by burnt flesh. Flames burned from the dead man's eye sockets and horror leapt from what remained of his visage. I pushed him forward and the door gave, the wood shattered into the snow outside and I landed next to the dead man with the soft eyes.

The snow felt sweeter than anything I had ever experienced but the relief was fleeting and my work was unfinished. Another had escaped the blaze, and he lay not far away in the snow, whining softly in pain unable to draw out anything more. Adrenaline and an unholy rage filled me once more. I crawled forward, whimpering as cold snow dug sharp into my burns.

I didn't need to do what I did next, the man would've died either way, this was vengeance. I crawled onto the survivors chest and our eyes met for a second, he was afraid and he was right to be. I strangled him to death even as I felt my own life fading. He sputtered and choked but did not have the fortitude left to fight back. His life left him slowly and as it did the tavern crumbled to cinder behind me. I kept my hands on his throat until they started to shake and stars filled my vision.

I fell into the snow, dying.

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**I'm doing this as a writing exercise and for fun so I can't promise consistency but we'll see where it goes based on the response. **

**Hope you liked the first chapter/intro!**


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